Thursday, 13 June 2019

During our great year of 2018, the Astroturf Wizard of Algoraz visited me threefold. With each appearance, he wielded his conscious spork with great vigour and smashed a chain attached to a limb, announcing a new form of liberation per every strike. First, the constraints of a fixed financial location were shattered, no longer forced to suckle at a master's teet wherever they wished to lay, for now, my professional avenue had been blessed with wings, allowing me to reap the fruits of my labour anywhere that the Wifi Gods spun the sky. The next chain to go was the alcoholic mistress and her nagging cackles placing curses upon my shoulders which not only clogged my love arteries but also raped my wallet for any which gold it may contain⁠, now lifted from any future story forever. And, finally, the bounds of a lease were eradicated, my binding signature on that lawful scroll finally expiring, meaning that, for the first time in my life, I, was, well, and, truly, free.

And so I yanked out my trusty map and then I tore it to little shreds. I flipped a three-sided Smanko coin, I scanned Skyscanner for the cheapest flights and then I fucked right off using my middle fingers as paddles. There's nothing wankier than a circle of digital nomads massaging each other's shoulders about their digitally nomadism, but that's what they started calling me and I am far too busy to argue. Instead, I somersaulted from land to land using nothing but sheer determination, the Queen's money, and aeroplanes, ultimately visiting 14 cities in 10 countries in four continents in six months (and one day). And even though I have ample documentation which proves the trip took place (all photos included are my own, btfw), this story is already fading into the back of my memory like a hazy dream which never happened. Ah yes, the poison of Serosamu's brain flaps are always flaring up around this time of year.

Hence the purpose behind this blog. To hold my memory eggs close. And to show off, look at me, look at me. But mostly the eggs thing, I think. But wait! There's more! This report can also work as a wonderful resource for you! If you so ever wish to visit one of the countries below, seek this list and you shall find anything from my ratings of local hostels to my thoughts on their pub crawls and even my main tourist recommendations slapped at the end. Oh, and on the off-chance that our adventure paths crossed swords along this road, then don't be surprised if you find your name lurking within these lines. Although then again, there's also a huge chance I completely forgot about you, in which case, I bow my head and apologise without any idea who you are, sozlul. Get in touch and you shall magically appear.

You know, I was planning to write a brief intro and now look what you made me do. Here's the Worst to Best of Jarexit:

10. Cape Town, South Africa

Dates: 17 Feb 19 - 23 March 19Accomodation: Family [N/A]

Talk about an unfair positioning, Cape Town came into the game with a slew of crippling speedbumps, far too disadvantaged to compete in the same weight group as every other stop on the Jarexit tour.

The primary problem is that I know Cape Town like the back of my hand because the back of my hand has spent over a decade living in the area, meaning that there isn't too much of this place that I haven't seen already. My mind has conversed with various other minds about this curious problem, and many agree that the anticipated welcoming sense of finally coming home isn't necessarily a given, and instead, the extended absence can actually work against its flavour. Regions generally don't change as fast as people do, and when people stay in the same place for too long, their pace tends to stagnate and mimic their immediate environment. Which is to say that while my last 10 years have been exposed to so many scary edges of the world, Cape Town has stayed largely the same except for less water (there has been a severe drought plaguing the city for the last few years with Day Zero threatening the headlines on numerous occasions), less electricity (some days we experienced six hours with no power which is impossible for someone who works from home), and more violent crime (we're currently 15th highest in the world!). To make it even worse, Capetonians are so chilled that they just keep on smiling, shrugging, "That's Africa for you!" while my soft pale British centre is screaming in panic, "Can't you see how fucked this is?!".

Shit gets worse on a personal level. You see, when I moved to London, I could forget my previous life and become a fresh me because nobody knew who I once was. Fake it 'til you make it, yeah? And eventually, I became the guy I wanted to be simply because I was no longer burdened by the mistakes of adolescence that we all carry (especially because those tumultuous years predated the infinite recordings of social media). But in Cape Town? People remember that version of me and then I look into their eyes and I remember it too. Oh no, it's you! I begin to shrink into a shell I thought I'd shed and I revert back to that beta Jared I despise, pining over ex-girlfriends who haunt every corner of this miserable metropolitan while I cry to my mommy and my daddy for help. Wash my stuff! Buy me clothes! Give me a lift! Feeeeed meeeeee! And as we go on, these dusty grooves are carved out stronger, the ailment only worsening over time, which isn't great when I ended up staying here for a month and a week. The longest Jarexit stay of them all! Too long!

Of course, at the end of the day, forget everything I just said, I actually had an excellent time. You'd struggle to find a city as gorgeous as this one and the fact that nobody but my sister knew I was coming provided us with some very unique footage. Speaking of which, my whole family went above and beyond to show me a good time, and that they did, with plenty of healthy hikes among the beauty of Cape Town's endless nature, and plenty of unhealthy car crashes following at the pub. One of the most testing aspects of solo travelling is the loneliness, and there was none of that here (unfortunately no shout-out list this round, there are too many of you!). Another one of the most testing aspects of solo travelling Europe specifically is the lack of vitamin D, of which there was no problem here, the sun was fucking cooking! And, finally, due to the free accommodation, the dinners provided by parentals, and the general depth of the rand, this stay proved to be an essential buffering period for the finances, providing me with a full house of rejuvenation, ready to march on with stamina in my step and a belly full of Pronutro. Did I mention I saw The Cure live here? I did!

Top Five Recommended SightsTop of Table Mountain, The Bo-Kaap, Kirstenbosch Gardens, Top of Lion's Head (sunrise hike!), Boulders Beach.

09. Da Nang, Vietnam

This tale begins with a Facebook friend I'd never met named Danny who, upon witnessing my adventures online, enjoyed regularly commenting that I better come visit him in Da Nang, "Or else!" (he didn't actually say that, but he was fairly adamant). I often explained how unlikely this turn would be, as I was trying to touchdown in capital cities for the most part and also, what the fuck is in Da Nang?

Then Thailand happened and my bank account was in tears which was when I noticed that Da Nang was not only a super cheap flight away but it was also a super cheap place to go in general. And that was enough reasoning for me! Let's go to Da Nang!

A lot of people that I've spoken to who have visited this city tell me they weren't impressed with it, but I am here to stand by Da Nang's worth and emphasise that this low positioning on my list has very little to do with the region itself. There are a surprising amount of sights to see, most of which combine natural wonders with man-made elements so harmoniously that I'm not sure I've seen such an impressive execution like this before. What's more, there is a fantastic community vibe wherever you go, everyone relatively friendly, albeit unable to communicate due to the language barrier and often staring at your hair because you're the first white person they've seen in weeks (although my nosering may have played a role). Even more cool stuff includes the Wifi which was strong and abundant (better than most first world countries), the currency which is called dong, and the exchange rate which translated deliciously in my favour. I was a fucking millionaire!

But shit went wrong. A lot of shit, all at once. I suffered from heat exhaustion which is way more intense than people give it credit for. I got into various large online arguments about spoilers. I broke my luggage wheel beyond usability. And I smashed my MacBook's screen beyond visibility (which, btw, I managed to get fixed within hours on a Sunday so props to those ninjas!). Couple this with the fact that I often spent hours in anxious tears trying to locate any vegetarian food whatsoever, resorting to cheese on bread more than I'd like to admit, and it's kinda easy to see why I fell into the darkest pit of my entire travels, a five-day uninterrupted onslaught of depression, feeling so alone (no pub crawls exist here!) and praying to just go back home to London. However, as I have noted before, who's to say this wouldn't have happened anywhere else in the world anyway? My depression is like clockwork. So predictable. Certainly hormonal.

Oh, and I did meet Danny in the end. Nice guy, which is always a relief.

08. Berlin, Germany

Much like Cape Town, the odds were shamefully stacked against Berlin. For, you see, this narrative truly begins in 2016 for my birthday, where myself and like 10 of my bestest mates visited the area for the first time and we were all awestruck by what we found. That's a different story entirely, but let it be known that when I left, I was announcing to the world that Berlin this was the greatest city in the whole wide world wide web, hence why I was soooo excited to go back despite my acute awareness that it had impossibly stretched stockings to fill.

In what I thought was a clever attempt to recapture that magic, I booked myself into a super sociable hostel, claiming one single bed in an eight-person dorm. As this was over the Christmas and New Years period, I had visions of making brand new lifelong friends and exploring Berlin's endless party scene with them until I fell in love with someone and got married and never left, sorted.

What happened instead was an endless revolving door of revolting people coming and going, zero connections made while a choir of snores extended my bedtime and frequent early morning arguments woke me up at ungodly hours with a frown. The streets were also explosively loud as one would imagine considering the time of year. What's worse is that this hostel had no kitchen, only one tiny designated fridge space per person (for a price) and an extortionate breakfast buffet if you needed sustenance. I had resorted to stashing bread rolls beneath my bed and slapping some cheese on them until they went stale, then replacing them to start the cycle again. Even decent restaurants and grocery stores were hard to come by because everyone was on holiday while almost NOWHERE accepts cards, it's ridiculous. So if you do the maths, my sleeping cycle was shot, my diet was void of any nutritional value, and while I was out and about, it also rained constantly, leaving my general arsenal fairly depleted throughout.

This journey of hiccups came to a grand climax when, on the 2nd of January 2019, some asshole stole my iPhone from right next to my sleeping head. Talk about a painful comedown, I woke up with a sinking feeling of violation and then I had to go to the fucking cop station to make a report, cowering beneath two scary officers who spoke a very rudimentary form of English. It was agonising.

But with low lows come high highs, right? Right! And if we can ignore the hostel, Berlin itself still delivered as a city shouting with culture and awkward historical landmarks which changed the world. What's more, the (anti-)pub crawl I embarked on was loads of fun until we went to that absinthe bar and I lost everyone moments before I vanished off the face of the planet into a blank sea of green. Even better, New Years was off the fucking hook! My solid mate Brothers magically appeared out of nowhere and invited me to a small yet deborturous house party where I met Tim, Anne, and Martin, all of whom are legends and, by the end of everything, are now solid mates too. We watched the 360 fireworks from their rooftop which was about as insane as my racing heart could handle and then we spent the next day winding down at a giant spa where I saw roughly a thousand people naked (and spent roughly a thousand euros). That was one for the books.

I left Berlin battered and humbled, swiftly reminded that I was a little boy in a big world and life would fuck me up at any time if it so chose to. Alright, you win! Peace! Peace!!!

Top Five Recommended SightsMemorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, The Brandenburg Gate, The East Side Gallery, Nico's Grave, Alter St-Matthäus-Kirchhof cemetery.

07. Athens, Greece

You may start to notice a pattern when it comes to the lower section of my Jarexit catalogue, and that is this: if I've visited the country before, it tends to score lower. This is for obvious reasons. The sucker-punch of brand new sights and unique cultures is softened by memory foam, the overall wow-ness diluted as one retraces their steps rather than gazing at the world with a fresh batch of dribble decorating the chin. Athens had this problem, as I'd previously visited the region in 2012 with my then-girlfriend. This was her hometown which made it even worse because everything reminded me of her, yuck! Haha just kidding, hi, Lizzie.

With that out of the way, there was nothing not to love about this city and everything actually went smashingly well. Certainly, there weren't that many things to look at (I had to limit my sightseeing to one location per day just to stretch my time out) but the main attractions are so undeniably monumental that they do rise above pretty much anywhere else in the world in that "historic value" type of plain. It's impossible to avoid some sort of a funny feeling when you see shit like that. There were also plenty of other little spices which I adore about this location, for example, how the city is slowly crumbling all around you, how the abundance of street cats watch you from their peripheral vision, how Greek people do not give a fuck about anything AT ALL, how basically the first sunshine of 2019 hit my face here, and how the pub crawl I went on was a ton of fun (hello to everyone I met from that event, namely Hesam, Shabnam, and especially Jessica and Kathi who were kind enough to have drinks with me the next day. An extra happy point to Maria, thanks for showing us around!). And yet... somehow, above even all of these highlights, was my accommodation itself, as undoubtedly the most comfortable room of my entire trip. I felt like I was at home right away and I rated it higher on Booking.com than anywhere else. I could live there, easy. Also, this is the perfect junction to say hello to Max. Hello, Max.

Athens always had the impossible task of following up Rome, which nothing had the power to conquer. But, by the end, it had won over a very special place in the greater puzzle of my tour. I owe a lot of this to my intended slower pace which made for a much calmer experience and, weirdly, the time flew by way fast, concluding with an element of sadness, apprehensive to leave, which was a first by this point.

06. Copenhagen, Denmark

Copenhagen has set up a special little hut in my guts as the very first stop on my Jarexit journey. I feel like I was but a small child at this point, uncertain if my plan was even going to work, fumbling through life with my palms stretched out and a bottle hanging from my teeth, eager to step forward but also anticipating a face-first tumble, knocking the dominoes as I did so until they all fall down.

Thankfully, this city was a massive success and worked to stack upon my confidence while setting the fun-bar nice and high. I mean, I could have done without the expensiveness of this place, but it truly felt like a "you get what you pay for" type of scenario, where there was a certain type of magic here that even money couldn't buy (especially because Christmas was just around the corner, and their associated holiday markets are world renowned!). The sharp bites from the freezing air further added to this festive experience, keeping your mind on high alert as the surrounding visuals radiated with vibrant colours, granting ample breathing room due to the vast serene water landscapes which surround everything, with hardly any litter or poverty to block your fantasy skip. A-grade statue game too! I dunno, it just seemed that the quality of life here was super easy. Everyone was happy. Nobody was apprehensive to speak (a first-language level of) English to me. There was a lot of smiling shared between me and strangers, and it didn't even freak me out.

Considering that this was a big step towards the ultimate independence, it's surprising that some of my main highlights were actually of a social nature. On my first night, I met up with some old workmates who had no idea I was coming, and I then later attended the best pub crawl from the whole journey. I developed three particularly potent friendships during that event (namely Athena, Michelle, and Tristen, hi!) and these dudes were legends! Very friendly, welcoming me into their circle of trust, then inviting me to spend the whole next day with them, exploring this pretty city while comparing our hangovers. With a bit of luck, friends for life! Oh, and hey Katie!

I want to end with the Danish word called "hygge". I'm unsure how to pronounce it, but it means "quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being". There is no direct English equivalent of this word because its very definition is unique to this country's lifestyle. It's something I wouldn't have understood unless I had experienced it myself, but I have, and I do. Ok, but here's an English word for you: "Go!". As in, "Go to Copenhagen, it's rad".

Top Five Recommended Sights Superkilen, Nyhavn, Freetown Christiania, the top of The Rundetaarn, The Little Mermaid statue.

05. Melbourne, Australia

Australia was placed in a precarious position before I'd even washed up on their shores, purely because it was specifically chosen to be the grand finale of my six-month tour. And as it sits here, slap-in-the-middle of my lineup, it doesn't take a genie to calculate that it delivered on some fronts, yet fell short on others.

My main complaint about Melbourne (and Australia as a whole) is that it's lacking a certain historical flavour and ingrained culture which my tummy craves. I mean, there are pubs in England which are a hundred years older than this entire city. Hence why, due to this newborn freshness, it does feel a little characterless, and my brain tended to completely switch off during my explorations, not a threatening thought to be found. I can't even count the number of occasions I awoke, standing on the side of the road, waiting endlessly for the man to turn green, and I'd ask myself... wait, where the fuck am I? This place looks like literally anywhere! I have no idea what country I'm in right now! This happened a lot. What's more, it was their winter, and I was suddenly cold for the first time in over four months. Badly timed.

However, these are insignificant complaints when you consider this as a nation who are undeniably the most chilled out people that I have ever had the pleasure of sharing a space with. Everything functions, there is a lot to see (and I saw a lot!), and the overall quality of existence is so pleasurable that's it's kinda ridiculous that the British sent the convicts here. They should have come themselves! Leave the convicts in the snow! Too late now. Anyway, the vein of social activity also pulsated particularly strong in this region as I met up with old friends (all the love in the world to Soph and Hannah, you mah girls!!!), met up with new friends I'd never met before (shout-out to Greg and Cam, Pencilmation represent!) and my hostel was buzzing with life as one of the coolest accommodations I'd ever stayed in. The pub crawl was also decent even though I didn't chat to anyone except for Hannah. Furthermore (and this might sound a bit gross and Western-y), but after the lengthy South East Asia excursion, it was a relief to converse in English to literally everyone! And drinking water directly from the tap? What a treat!

Admittedly, Melbourne should actually be a bit lower on this list, but it was bumped up due to its sneaky little side step where I slid off to visit my top-shelf mate (and fellow Funpowder Plotter) Ash in the Gold Coast. And this place was waaaaay superior! It was like LA with its endless beaches and plastic people and sunshiny weather. In fact, it was still winter over there yet it was miles warmer than London's average summer, hence why I laughed as I went for a run in the heat whilst the locals freaked out about how it was "the coldest June on record". Furthermore, my last day was an ending so perfect that I couldn't have written it myself, as we hiked through a rain forest near Kez's place followed by some surfing then a meal with another long-lost mate, Al. Such a great send-off to conclude my entire Jarexit tale, my one and only regret being that I didn't stay longer. Too easy, mate! Toooooo easy.

Top Five Recommended Sights Melbourne Museum, State Library Victoria, the fruit bats of Yarra Bend Park (go at dusk!), The National Gallery of Victoria, AC/DC Lane.

04. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

The very fact that I was going to Kuala Lumpur showed little more than the reflection of a man who had given up completely. As the second-to-last country on my journey, I no longer cared where I was going because (after Vietnam) I simply wanted to get this over with and go home and curl into a ball and die in front of Mother Netflix. Literally, the only reason I chose KL was that the final destination of Australia became closer, meaning cheaper flights. That. Was. It. I remember even thinking to myself, "Ok, this is going to suck, it's going to be a tough two weeks, but if we can just get through it, then we'll be in Australia and everything will be ok again".

In the end, it was these very fatigued preconceptions which worked massively in this city's favour as I was caught staggering off guard by its proper city city vibes, so much so that it reminded me of London in various obscure aspects. So many different cultures and religions were mixed up together yet everyone speaks English because they learn it in school by law (a clever government tactic to encourage tourism growth). Plus the place simply works, I even managed to get my luggage wheel fixed here for free! In that same consumerism type of way, a visit like this is less about fancy landmarks you've heard of or sightseeing touristy adventures for the whole family, but rather more about the living breathing city itself, vibrating from an indescribable feeling while hiding little gems in every crevice, enough to keep me busy right until I boarded that plane again. Even the weather was absolutely fascinating with frequent explosions of downpouring thunderstorms despite the temperature never dropping below 30 degrees. I have it on good authority that it's like this all year round, and I loved it.

Side note: I watched the noise pop band Deerhoof here and then I met them afterwards SO THAT WAS NICE. Big fan, I totally groupied out too, yet another point to KL!

It's worth noting that I intentionally focused much of my time here trying to fix the gaping holes in my psyche which I punctured during Vietnam. I attacked my every fibre with all of the positive warfare I could muster, including a strict balance of exercise (I ran 33.55km over the two weeks, which is decent) and a healthy diet (I followed my self-penned Good Mood Food guide almost exclusively), which defragged my brain and filled up my stoked-pockets right to the brim again. Oh, I remember me now! I'm alright!

Finally, an extra special mention must be circled around the cute local emo girl I matched with on Tinder. We chatted, we met, we got drunk, we ate food, we fucked forever and then we stayed by each other's side for close to 24 hours following. It felt like we were in a real relationship for this brief flash of time and then we said goodbye, which was actually kinda sore. I would fly back just to see her again.

So, Kuala Lumpur then, any complaints? Sure. The drink prices are extortionate. The porn laws are ridiculous. The pub crawl was dead (hey, Ryan, how are you?). My hostel's internet connection made me want to kill myself. But other than those, this is one underrated location and more people should be talking about here all of the time. It's criminal that people don't.

03. Budapest, Hungary

Man, I struggled to articulate what it is I loved about Budapest, but I guess... everything? It was cheap cheap cheap, the land seemed very clean, the locals were happy to help, the atmosphere was laid back, there were plenty of beautiful historic landmarks to check out, the tidy architecture tickled my intestines, and the thick snow was a masterful touch to the slow beauty already in place. Plus, my insurance kicked in and my new iPhone arrived to replace the stolen Berlin one, so yeah! Everything! It all just went right!

In fact, my friends Tanya and Simon were visiting too, and it kinda became a running joke between us that nothing ever goes wrong in Budapest. No matter what we wanted at whatever time, it always seemed to fall in our laps around whichever corner and then we laughed as we explored these Hungarian landscapes while building snowmen and dranking drinks and ateing eats everywhere we went, costing us next to no pounds at all. Flawless! Perfection! The pub crawl was a ton of fun too and I even went on my first Tinder date ever here, so I mean... everything!

Ok, of course, I do have one complaint, and it was the guesthouse I stayed in. I mean, the private room was nice enough (and an absolute godsend after the eight-person dorm hell of Berlin), but the live-in manager was a total douche. We butted heads a few times, the most notable of which when I accidentally left a tiny piece of pasta on the kitchen counter. I was out drinking on a Saturday night when I received a very passive-aggressive text from the guy, condescendingly moaning at me for my oversight. Naturally, I apologised profusely and took extra care going forward, but when the time came to review this accommodation, I decided to mention this parental incident as part of my conclusion. This fucker then responded by calling me the messiest guest he's ever had, which is something I have never been accused of in my life! Which is why I was strangely proud of the honour. Little old me, all the way up at number 1! Imagine!

Anyways, of every place I visited, I feel like Budapest would be the one I'd most likely recommend to just about anyone because it ticks the most boxes and I feel even you could find what you're looking for here. It was pure therapy for me.

Top Five Recommended SightsThe Buda Castle, The Hungarian Parliament Building, The iron shoes on Danube Bank, The Citadella at the top of Gellért Hill, The Garden of Philosophy.

02. Rome, Italy

The fact that Rome isn't number one on this list is daylight robbery because no city on Earth has ever moved me more than all of this right over here. I wrestled with this ranking for a while and, ultimately, this is how the cards fell. But let it be known that Rome is still my go-to answer when people ask me what my favourite stop was, hence why I'd like everyone to rather value this point as a tied first-place because that's what it is.

Oh Rome, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Three. There were three ways. As follows:

ONE: As with everything, practice makes perfect, and this applies to travel too. Rome marks my fourth Jarexit stop and, by this point, I had proven that my system worked. My footing was moving fast, my hours were being utilised to their maximum potential, and all of my previous apprehensions had evaporated into the mist, leaving me to flap my arms and make bird noises, finally free from everything. Italy's capital was the first city I truly dived into head first and, my God, I did not expect what I found. I only came here for the cheap flights, man!

TWO: In terms of historical monuments, Rome's unique slabs of recorded magic are unmatched. Any given turn and you find yourself in the middle of what felt like a film set, exactly how you imagine ancient Rome to look, perfectly preserved except twice the fucking size of what your mind could possibly illustrate alone. These seemingly endless sights tower above you, brimming with woah, a necessary distraction from the trashy streets below. It overwhelmed me with its monstrous presence and I had to eat so much pizza just to keep myself grounded. It was unhealthy.

THREE: My hostel was a social goldmine, cleverly designed to fan the fires of newfound friendships by offering free communal breakfast in the morning, and free communal wine in the evenings. And I met what felt like hundreds of people here, levelling up with at least one decent friend per each night, and usually a ton more. It was so good that even though the pub crawl was alright enough, I just wanted to come back and hang with these dudes. The number of times my heart broke saying goodbye in this hostel was enough to make a grown man cry.

There were too many of these soldiers to name, but I must give respect to the A-Team: Maelle, Lucie, Rodrigo, Sua, and especially Ahmed who was there from Day 1 until Day 14. The second-wave also deserves some love, so here it is: Gwyn, Emily, Curt, Noah, and Roshiwow. Oh, and of course, Luuk and Kaiting. And Elizabeth. Owen. Gabriel. Thiago. Dmitry. I've forgotten someone for sure.

So yeah, the thing is that there were multiple moments in Rome where the emotions rose above the vocabulary. I remember walking down the road a few times, happily chatting away with people I've only known for a few hours, off to find a pub, and then suddenly stepping out of myself, thinking... this is it. This is what travelling is all about. This means something. And then when I strolled into St. Peter's Basilica and nearly fell over, a profound spiritual experience took place within me, not exactly enough to convert my agnosticism to any solidified belief system, but a definite realisation of what Jesus meant on a conceptual basis. In one quick second, I understood the value of religious figures, not in terms of some imaginary relationship or debatable scripture or historical mumbles, but as an unachievable benchmark which I and you and everyone else could utilise to become better people. It was the closest example of a fundamental shift I've felt in over a decade and I nearly burst into tears on the spot. I was uber hungover though, so take that as you will.

Near the end, I fell quite ill, pinned to my pillow by sweat, hallucinating, the works. Perhaps this was my pores trying to reject Jesus? Whatever. The point is that this didn't taint my experience, but it did create a craving for a little privacy away from this shared space and I was ready to leave when I left. Except now I was armed with a new lease on life. I had a deeper connection with "God". And I no longer cared about trying to find something or myself on this mission because, whatever that was... whatever that was... I found it in Rome.

Top Five Recommended SightsThe Vatican City/Vatican Museums/St. Peter's Basilica, The Colosseum, The Forum, The Church of St. Ignatius of Loyola at Campus Martius, Trevi Fountain.

01. Bangkok, Thailand

What's fascinating about Bangkok is that pretty much everyone I know who has been here told me that they hated it, and what's more, I would certainly hate it too. They informed me that a few short days were more than enough and I was insane to attempt to endure this city for two weeks. Of course, as you've worked out by now, this was not my experience. Not in the slightest.

What people get wrong about Bangkok is that it takes at least four days just to remotely get your head around the place. You've got to hang on tight otherwise it will overwhelm you until you freak out and run away like a little baby. I mean, after two weeks I had only just about got the hang of it, and even then I wasn't too sure. Although this may all depend on your appreciation for crazy cities because Bangkok is a fucking crazy city. I love crazy cities, by the way. It may also be worth mentioning that I had two of the greatest guides anyone could ask for, Angela and Henry, who showed me the ropes, took me to see Jimmy Carr, then set me free to play. Thanks, guys! Everyone needs an Angela and Henry in their lives.

Ok, so what's the big deal? Well, as with any all-encompassing-sensory-overload, it's difficult to dumb down a soul-shaping experience by using the limited space between the boundaries of language, but I'll start by relaying that it felt like my finger was stuck on the fast-forward button. This sentiment rings particularly potent when screaming down the busy intersections on the back of a Grab taxi scooter facing oncoming traffic. I could taste the backdrop of my adrenaline gland. Not to mention that the sex industry here is far more intense than Amsterdam and I spent many nights drinking in bright neon malls which were actually a collection of bars which were actually a collection of strip joints which were actually a collection of fancy brothels, enjoying the stream of 10/10 Thai models who were trying to fuck me for money while the ladyboys waved their little willies in my face. I may have felt quite powerful if I didn't actually feel as if the entire surface area of my skin has been covered with filth. Although that may have been the sweat because FUCK ME the weather was HOT. I don't think I actually breathed oxygen once while I was there.

A lot can be said for chaos, I'm all about it, but this alone is not enough to dominate all of my travels ever. Instead, the key to Bangkok was the absurd juxtaposition of it all; the disorderly seediness balanced out by the polar opposite spiritual essence, the exact point on earth where the sinful meets the holy, a loud vibration of turbulence worn like a coat upon a deeply calm centre. Buddhism, man. It's so chill, so humble, so welcoming. Just how they treat tourists with such respect is unlike anywhere else on my trip, and any exchange came with a mutual understanding that we were both helping each other out in our own ways. So yeah, take this religious stillness fucked with perverse indulgence, and you pretty much have Jared in a nutshell.

My main testament to the power of Thailand was that I quickly realised that my already-booked flight to Singapore was simply not going to cut it and I promptly skipped that part, opting to explore the country a bit further via their infamous island lifestyles. One Facebook vote later, and my friends sent me along my way to Koh Tao and Koh Phangan. You may think that this subplot has unfairly manipulated the score to prop Bangkok up on this pedestal and, yeah, you're probably right. However, arguably not as much as one would assume, as these two locations somewhat cancelled each other out.

On the one hand, Koh Tao was a paradise on earth which could easily suck you in forever (I met some of its victims). It's basically a long casual festival vibe bursting from young people who chill on the beaches and hike through the mountains while popping the over-the-counter Valiums—just a real holiday feeling which I used to eat and exercise myself back into health and cleanliness. Oh, and that pub crawl? Massive. Excessively so. The biggest in Asia. About 130 people. Insane.

On the flip side, I spent my time in Koh Phangan pretty much just running away from vicious dogs trying to eat me alive, so that wasn't as great. The Full Moon Party was definitely as epic as everyone said it would be, but I am decidedly too old for that shit, and also, seriously, that dog thing still haunts me today.

All in all, I went far too hard, my accommodation was always above par, I met many cool people (hey Keyaria, hey Tobi, hey Doina, and especially hey you, Eve), and I ultimately loved it so much that I overstayed my visa by one day, my passport now proudly sporting the Thai stamp of naughtiness forever. Worth it!

Hope to see ya'll next time around!

Top Five Recommended SightsThe Grand Palace, Nana Plaza, Top of the King Power MahaNakhon, The Ratchada Night Market, Wat Arun Ratchawararam Ratchawaramahawihan.

Tuesday, 31 July 2018

One of my biggest fears is to be ordinary. Typical. Unoriginal. Predictable. Normal just like you. My parents always said I was special, and goddamnit, I had better start acting like it.

These are the reasons as to why I’ve always struggled with the depths of my Beatles adoration. It's because every publication in existence will mention them by name as one of the most important artistic contributions to modern music. They are already a permanent signature in all of the musical history books, more often than not on the first page. Hence why it seems like such a tasteless place to lay your eggs. There is nothing exciting about loving The Beatles. Go ahead, and tell people about your interest. Watch as you receive nothing more than a mere pat on the head from those who smile at your safe selection. Or, at very best, you may even witness an eager scream from your mate’s mom as she experiences a Beatlemania flashback, fainting and then convulsing upon the floor. You love The Beatles? Omg, me too! As does eveyone.

That said, over the years, I have occasionally come across members of the anti-Beatles movement. At first, I was always impressed by their bold opposition. How big does your ego have to be in order to claim your opinion is greater than a force which literally influenced all of the music you enjoy today? How much attention are you seeking right now, exactly? Were you neglected as a child? But eventually I realised, nobody dislikes The Beatles. That's impossible. Rather, what people are rejecting is the sheer popularity of the band. They cannot stomach the myth. The folklore has outgrown the product. This band are not as great as the monumental reputation they hold, because how could anything possibly be that size? And to be fair, this makes sense! I get it! Ok, I'm in! Let's fight against the norm! Let's go on an anti-Beatles rally! Off I march! But then before I know it, I've walked in circles, gravitating towards the core center where The Beatles reside. They're always waiting for me there. And then we dance in the middle of this story like nobody is watching. Because nobody is watching. I am alone all of the time.

It’s a tired claim when a subject is said to require “no introduction”. In the case of The Beatles, however, any introduction is beyond redundant, and that includes this one. I don’t need to justify my decision to dedicate this space to these heroes. It's none of your goddamn business what I do with my blog anyway. It's not even like it matters, my list is nothing more than an insignificant speck of fluff floating down into the ether of similarly existing articles, forever lost so deep within The Beatles cosmos that no search engine will be able to find it. And this is for good reason. But I still feel compelled to tell you one thing: it was an absolute joy to write this piece. It felt like I was eating a healthy meal, like I was happy again, and I fell in love these guys deeper now than ever before. I'm just sorry it took me so long. Here is my Worst to Best of the Greatest Band That Ever Lived.

15. With The Beatles (1963)

The Beatles were on a roll in their early days, although when weren’t The Beatles on a roll? Rather, what made this era so particularly unique was a certain pre-fame hunger which existed before the group outgrew Jesus and were shrouded in the security blanket of Beatlemania validation. They had been standing on the cusp of world domination for a while now, and it was here, on With The Beatles, when they fell in. Their debut was a mere eight months old, and they were still charging forward, unstoppable and armed with these joyous clap-along rockers, edging away from the pop naivety and still jumping around just because they loved the thrill of it all. But with this blind rush, came a slight taint of an understandable fatigue. The six cover songs featured on this album should have been the first warning flag, as they were shoved between disorganised cracks of an otherwise undercooked inspiration, the biggest crime of this sophomore being an obvious lack of any wow factor whatsoever. It may have sold well (the second album to ever sell a million copies in the UK, in fact) and the artwork may be as iconic as they come, but nothing can distract this as the most boring collection the band ever threw together in their entire career, and my personal choice for their worst batch of material. Most people don't have a problem with me saying this.

14. Past Masters, Volume One (1988)

Early Beatles discography is an utter mess to follow thanks to the practice of reordering and repackaging the exact same collections of songs under different album titles for the British, American, and Canadian audiences. Thankfully, at some point in the 80s, somebody realised how ridiculous this was, and a core catalogue was established, otherwise known at the “correct catalogue” or the “UK catalogue“, exactly how The Beatles had always intended. However, said unification left a stack of homeless non-album tracks floating away, some of Fab Four’s most revered works clinging onto their b-sides, gone and lost forever. Just kidding. Money could be made, and the Past Masters duo were the clever solution, working as erratic dumping grounds for #1 monster hits, vinyl underbellies, German translations, and Long Tall Sally EP cover tunes, wrapped up neatly in one sellable product. Due to these characteristics, the Past Masters inclusions within the stricter Beatles discography is debatable—more a completist bag if anything—but thank God for their existence all the same. Volume One specifically suffered from the scrappy jumbles dripped out from those sugary pop days (most of which could be located elsewhere anyway) hence why this compilation feels a teesntie bit pointless to me. But still... how massive were those singles??

13. Beatles for Sale (1964)

Peak Beatlemania came with some serious demand, and nothing could reflect the band's waning interest more than this title itself. Beatles for Sale. A product. Their fourth album, 21 months after their first. The pop curtain was getting thin, the cynicism was settling in, the lethargy showed on their artwork. Historically speaking, no one could shit out decent music quite as fast as these guys could, and that’s pretty much all they did here. They sat down and pushed out a rushed dump, risk-free and exhausted, just take what you are given. What’s worse is that The Beatles had already proven themselves as the best songwriters on the planet by the end of 1964, hence why the six cover song filler fluff really stank the place up, 42.86% of the ingredients may contain less Beatle. To be kind, this record’s hindsight charm was recognised as an in-between release, the band unsure of where they wanted to go but certain of where they didn’t want to be, ending up in some Lennon-heavy country-folk phase, not lost in the artiness just yet but way past the bouncy yeah yeahs—just some Liverpool lads having a rock ‘n’ roll jam really. And let's not forget about those vocal harmonies! On point. Perhaps better found here than anywhere else, hence why I'd happily buy some of that Beatles stuff everyone is banging on about, pass it here.

12. Yellow Submarine (1969)

Does Yellow Submarine possess the genuine Beatles membership card as an essential block in their fundamental discography? That’s a controversial conversation. Due to contractual obligations, the boys were forced to provide some new compositions for a (now classic!) animated film simply because it wore their likeness and sported their brand logo. The Beatles had no choice, and they reluctantly threw aside four tracks they didn’t care much for, packaged with two previously released hit singles, and that’s side one, done. Side two was eagerly seized by producer George Martin, who filled it up with his orchestral score for the film, and with that, the messy soundtrack was folded up and handed over. In defense of this sloppy execution, The Beatles had just released their monumental Beatles [White Album] two months previous. And as Yellow Submarine was such a happier collection glinting off the peaks of surreal LSD rejects, its trippy love and colourful characteristics did provide an interesting antithesis of the otherwise tedious indulgence found on the aforementioned self-titled affiar. The primary criticism against this record stood loudest against those Martin contributions (even the band were heard to dismiss them), but I personally appreciate those tracks too, as a welcome intermission in the overall Beatles catalogue if nothing else. Honestly, for something so utterly inconsequential, the Yellow Submarine soundtrack sure knows how to bring about a smile.

11. Let It Be (1970)

The Beatles’ catalogue ends in tragedy. Let It Be (released a month after their dissolution) is oft-mistakenly considered as their final album, when this project was actually recorded before Abbey Road. The project had been abandoned for good reason and was only resurrected as a shameless cash-in on their recent demise (or at least that's what I tell people). Consequently, this “swan song” is an incomplete mess shoved together without merit, dirtying up the group's perfect score after the finish line, even if we need to take a moment to admire the initial idea. Story tells that the concept was proposed by McCartney’s dictatorship enthusiasm as an attempt to recapture their former back-to-basics magic, bluesy one-take style, no overdubbed psychedelic doodling or another effort to etch their names into the wheel. And that was totally worth the shot, right? It may have even worked too if The Beatles themselves weren’t so sick of one another by this point, the disintegration of the world’s biggest band taking place right here and conveniently captured by the documentary of the same name. What followed was hours upon hours of disorganised tape dumped upon eccentric genius madman Phil Spector’s desk, featuring some of McCartney’s most realised work spread thin by worthless chips of filler and sarcastic Lennon chatter. Spector did his best, bless him, and his best was actually incredible, coating on his orchestral wall of sound until The Beatles’ mistakes were densely covered up, a sneaky move which McCartney has publicly despised a billion times over. And yet, annoyingly, it's still better than your best work.

10. Please Please Me (1963)

I may have been four decades too late, but I find it rather fitting that the band's debut was the first Beatles record I'd ever bought and listened to in full. Consequently, my affection may be slightly tainted by bias, but nobody can deny that a certain exciting charm still remains on Please Please Me above any of their subsequent records. There was no drool of global audiences as of yet, and this absence has blessed the record with an amusing power in hindsight. Just listen to it now and remember: nobody involved had the slightest clue about the atomic bomb which sat beneath them. This was nothing more than a hungry little Liverpudlian band, rushing to capitalise on one successful single by building an entire album around it, consisting of nothing more than their cover-heavy stage shows, so well rehearsed that the project itself took a mere 10 hours to record. Critics argue against its cautious commercial calculations and lack of creative innovation, but these fools overlook the playful naivety and youthful energy of four guys simply having a blast and loving music for music’s sake. This was the first Beatles album, man! And they came out swinging with smart attire and wide smiles, capturing a tight magic with a stickiness so immediate that it initiated one of the most important artistic stories of all time. And that's just perfect.

9. A Hard Day's Night (1964)

The Beatles were working hard. Running around, getting things done. Beatlemania was currently burning the world down, and the only logical solution was to milk public pockets for every dime they held. How about a full-length feature film then? And a soundtrack to go with it? Why not the first album to be 100% penned by the boys themselves? Oh no, these artists were becoming self-aware! They were taking control and getting cocky within their role. They were actually thinking about their musical direction now. The brains were overpowering the guts because they knew that the whole empire would come crashing down without them. Place all of these observations in one lunchbox, shake it around, and that's what makes A Hard Day's Night such an important record. It may have kept both feet firmly fixed inside of the classic Beatle sugar bowl, swooning from silly romantic simplifications and juvenile optimism, but they were consciously evolving towards a tighter overall consistency. Every song needed to be a memorable inclusion. A thread of cover fillers connecting the odd hit singles together would no longer suffice. This is exactly what peak early Beatles sounds like. That special sweet spot where the world was infected and the band were still loving it, while slyly contemplating where their creative boundaries ended, quietly rebelling against the advice of those in charge. Needless to say, everybody loved it and the film itself was a landmark cinematic masterpiece too. Of course it was! Fucking Beatles, man!

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8. Rubber Soul (1965)

In terms of Beatles folklore and global importance, this is a landmark album. The band were experimenting with marijuana while hanging out with Bob Dylan, and that kinda sloooooowed everythiiiiing dooooown. Their stoned third-eye was struggling to open as they decided now was the time. They needed to take complete creative control of this adventure. The cheesy crowd pleasers were smoked out by a more unified aura of folk rock, somewhat drifting towards space but ripening into an artistic wokeness within their core until it hardened as a Rubber Soul. It was the earliest indication of the band’s restlessness and their refusal to stand still, finally breaking free from any predictable former commercial ties. And (like various Beatles albums following) it changed the entire music industry. Historians are quick to point towards this direction as the first “true album” ever made, a full package presented as one cohesive piece of art, not just some formality product intended to support the radio singles. And this approach shook other musicians from their slumber, until proper albums became the priority, a practice which has benefitted us all greatly still to this very day. Thank you! The initial public reaction may have been one of confusion, and admittedly I find this record to be a smidgen overrated, but retrospectively, it has been lauded as the earliest bonafide Beatles classic for justifiable reasons.

7. Help! (1965)

Help! is essential Beatles splendour which has been criminally overlooked by latter-day fanatics. I guess it was too quickly overshadowed by what followed, and then unfairly lost within the lump of early easy-stick pop Beatles (not to mention that the US version opted to replace many of the central tracks with instrumentals from the associated film, and that didn’t “help” in the slightest). But for those of us who were paying attention, here are the first hints that this band were progressing towards The Beatles that we know and adore today. The songwriting was maturing, the reliance on cover songs were slowly being phased out, and this was the crouch before the leap, leaving their mop-top days behind for good, the final traces of Merseybeat shaved off into the ground as seedlings for future compost. Sadly, Help! may have had the right ingredients to be another classic, but it fell slightly short due to a top-heavy song sequencing and a continued fixation on love love love. But at the same time, the winning hits were fucking knockouts! Most notably was McCartney’s confidence which truly expanded here, point proven with his song Yesterday, the most covered piece of music ever written in history, fact.

6. Past Masters, Volume Two (1988)

The two piece Past Masters compilations may have been sold as one idea but they could not be any more contrasting in terms of quality. Volume One leaned closer towards the written concept: a safe haven for those homeless scraps and prime cuts to live in harmony, allowing the completists to round off their collections, no longer cluttering up their precious vinyl shelves with the endless single releases otherwise required. Volume Two, however, was a different spread altogether, as an almost perfect run of non-album hits and their associated b-sides, gathering up lost children along The Beatles’ most compelling psychedelic period right until their crash-landing. Consequently, it’s easy to forget that this is not a greatest hits assemblage, but rather, nothing more than a convenient nesting point, a fact alone which proves the unparalleled supernatural genius that is The Beatles. Make no mistake, if this second Past Masters was an official Beatles album, it would undeniably be considered their most consistently impressive work and perhaps even the pinnacle of pop music itself.

5. Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

Magical Mystery Tour was never intended to be a real album. Rather, a double EP soundtrack was the plan, fixed to the (critically despised) film of the same name. The US market, however, had other ideas, wrapping the rushed somewhat forgettable EP tracks up with a collection of previously released A-side singles to create a full LP, and you know what? Those Americans actually got it right this time. The second half outshines the first half dramatically, featuring a solid run of unimaginably impressive work without toppling over the cohesiveness of this overall kaleidoscopic vibe. Every song danced though a surrealistic hippie-coloured world, playing in the sunshine, singing like children, nth degree cooked and undoubtedly their quirkiest record ever. The band had truly eaten too many lysergic doses at this point, and the acid ran thick as their hallucinatory exploration concluded right here with what can only be described as Sgt. Pepper’s reject brother. And that is exactly the type of Beatles I prefer anyway. Rest assured that this is a band at their peak creativity carrying some of the most extraordinary psychedelic songs ever written, totally underrated and deserving of much more love from you.

4. Revolver (1966)

Revolver is the audible equivalent of the stars aligning. It was a special period for art itself, where the trippy drugs and lovey-dovey counterculture were conspiring together, breaking into new territories with The Beatles at the forefront of the creative explosion, fueling their indulgences with as much money as they felt necessary. Due to their mental expansion and touring exhaustion, this album marked an important global musical activation when the studio itself became an instrument, smashing boundaries and innovating unprecedented techniques which have since influenced all future recording practices if you’re willing to research it. Consequently, this does feel like some sort of an apex in The Beatles universe, at the top of their game without trying to be anything but themselves, gradually sinking deeper into ego artiness and contemplative metaphysical lyrical matters while still remaining somewhat safe within commercial boundaries. Truthfully, it’s impossible to grasp what this utterly flawless record meant back in 1966, as even today the untouchable masterpiece sounds ahead of our time. Its reputation has fairly reflected this significance though, as it's often considered The Beatles’ finest half hour to many, especially in latter-day arguments. In fact, any dispute over the greatest Beatles record from this point onwards is nothing more than an unresolvable debate at best.

3. The Beatles [White Album] (1968)

Meet the ugly duckling of this tale. As if a loud opposition against their recent psychedelic vibrancy, all flashy frills were torn down just like the minimal artwork told you so, hiding a dark disturbance beneath the whiteness of nothing. Listen to a band falling to pieces. A four-way solo album with far too much ego to make the necessary trimmings. Unrestrained creativity at war with highly tense interpersonal bitterness. Look no further than the once inseparable productivity of the Lennon/McCartney partnership, now not even featuring on one another's creations. See Paul’s sweet vanilla storytelling as it clashes with junkie John’s harsh and thought-provoking shouts intended to make Yoko happy. Notice all of this and be astounded that the turmoil birthed The Beatles’ most fascinating work, as a rushed, sloppy disconnection of brilliance and filler, unstable and uncomfortable even when it was just trying to play nice. What an eclectic mess of stress, a raw experiment lost within atmospheres of confused conflict, unfulfilled spirituality, and a political upset, delivered so effortlessly that none of this makes sense whatsoever. People often (rightfully) observe that The White Album could have easily been cut down into another flawless Beatles gemstone, but that would hack away at its essential character, and it would no longer be the monster it has come to be feared. Do not entertain such thoughts. Rather, enjoy this imperfect masterpiece as truly one of the most remarkable albums ever made.

2. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)

Sgt. Pepper has become so synonymous with “The Greatest Album Ever Made” that we’ve grown jaded, nauseous as we witness this record drowning within its own pretensions and overblown reputation, dying beneath layers of blinding sparkles and swirly rainbow colouring without losing that goddamn cartoon smile upon its face. The LSD had dominated their common sense! The flower power naivety was bad for our teeth! Take off those rose-tinted glasses and see this for the 60s novelty album which it truly is! Of course, these fatigued critiques would work much better if each song on Sgt. Pepper wasn’t such an explosively magnificent landmark of inventiveness, surging so far forward into the gaping abyss of blinding imagination that The Beatles themselves were forced to retreat shortly following. Furthermore, this ingenuity extends a billion years beyond just some pretty compositions, as a full art piece without a single corner left unexplored, featuring unprecedented studio wizardry (including the first ever hidden track), packaging unlike the world had ever comprehended (including the printed song lyrics, which had never been done before), and the (incorrectly) praised “earliest concept album in history”. Opinions will outlive us all, but if Sgt. Pepper is not the greatest, then it is undeniably the most important and innovative album ever created, as well as the purest musical masterpiece above every other musical masterpiece ever, done.

1. Abbey Road (1969)

Abbey Road opens the door with a cheerful smile and welcomes you into its tidy home, so apologetic that they couldn’t quite fully fumigate all of the demonic tensions. Still, I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s very clean and tidy in here. So airtight and polished to reflection. Hey, would you like a biscuit? It’s very digestible. Void of any artificial colouring. Nobody is trying to push the boundaries anymore. Baking on LSD was so ‘67. Try one of Harrison's treats, by all accounts they rival even the most satisfying of Lennon/McCartney desserts. Why don't you take a seat? There’s something else you must know. Unfortunately, we have some bad news. Despite what the released chronology may tell you, Abbey Road is the final amalgamation of the Fab Four’s creative spunk. The inner workings may sound like a band functioning at their absolute unified peak, but in reality, things have been crumbling for a while now, and sadly, this is to be the curtain call. Oh no, please don’t cry! Here, take this box of cookies home with you and treasure it forever. Remember The Beatles for this bittersweet finale, as it is their absolute best work really. Oh, and would you look at that? We're sorry but it's time to go. We hope you have enjoyed the show. The love you take is equal to the love you make. The End.